


And So To Bed

by Vae



Category: Torchwood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's switched his flights without telling Scott</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So To Bed

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a true and accurate description of real people or events. No profit made, no disrespect intended.
> 
> Written for fandom_me for midwinter 2007, thanks to lvs2read for beta services

"You're insane," Scott states flatly.

So, John wasn't due to get back to London until tomorrow. So, he decided to switch his flights when filming finished a little early. So, it's actually not until about 2 AM when he finally pays off the cab and gets back home, dropping his bag in the hallway. It's still not quite the welcome he'd been hoping for.

Hell, it's not like Scott's actually made it to bed yet. He'd heard the familiar tap of keys as soon as he reached the top of the stairs. Usually, he stays away from the office when Scott's working, but the door's not actually closed. Squatting to pat Lewis first, John pushes it further open to see the familiar sight of Scott's sandy head bent over his laptop, one elegant hand guiding the stylus over the graphics tablet. And that's when he gets accused of insanity.

"Nice to see you too, sweetheart," he responds, leaning against the door frame. Truth to tell, he's dog-tired anyway, aching and cold to the bone with fatigue and in need of a shower. Doesn't matter that the flight from Glasgow only takes just over an hour, he always needs a shower after flying. It's been a fucking long day, he's been away nearly an entire week, and he just wanted - needed - to get home and see Scott. Admittedly, he'd wanted to see Scott in a better mood, but he's not picky where Scott's concerned.

There's a click as the stylus is set back in its stand, and Scott swivels around on his chair. He's not looking the best John's ever seen, tension around his eyes and shadows smudged beneath them, lips pressed together in a firm line before he speaks. "I thought you weren't getting back until tomorrow?"

John suppresses the urge to cross the short distance between them. It's not that he doesn't want to, just that right now, Scott's not looking his most inviting. "I changed my flight."

"And you didn't think that it might be a good idea to tell me?" Scott folds his arms, head tilted to one side.

The surprise doesn't seem like such a great plan any more. "I was gonna surprise you," John confesses, hearing it shape itself into an excuse rather than a reason.

Scott regards him silently for a long moment. "Congratulations," he says quietly, and turns back to his desk, presenting John with a stiff pair of shoulders and the back of his office chair. "You surprised me."

That's not exactly what John had hoped for when he changed his flight, either, but talking further right now isn't going to get him anywhere, obviously. "Yeah." He scratches at the back of his neck, warm weight of Lewis against his ankle more comforting than he'd like to admit. "Look, I'm gonna go shower, d'you think you might...I mean, are you nearly...?"

"I'm working, John."

"Right." Right, yeah, working, and he's not going to interrupt work, even if Scott's reactions are twisting uneasy in his stomach. "I'll just.."

John retreats, closing the door behind him, and rests his forehead against the closed door for a few breaths, listening to the muffled tap of the keyboard coming from within. The press of lazy dog against his leg stirs him, and he reaches down, carrying Lewis through to the living room before going down to retrieve his bag and take it up to their bedroom. He unpacks just enough to get his sponge bag and a robe (laundry can wait for tomorrow), sheds his clothes with a soft groan, and heads through to the en-suite bathroom.

The untiled shower unit is another reminder that there are some subjects where he's just never going to be able to agree with Scott. Tonight's kind of bigger than bathroom tiles, though. Ignoring that one, at least, he starts the shower to heat the water, squints and peers into the rapidly steaming mirror to remove his contacts, and then steps into the cubicle, screen sliding closed behind him.

Warm water streams over his body, slicking heavy hair back from his face, easing physical tensions from his muscles, washing away the gritty, sticky itch of flying. Drops bounce off his body, pattering against the plastic sheet that acts as impromptu wall-covering, running down to gather around his feet, playing swirls in the sweet foam of shower-gel as it slides off him, tiredness growing with every passing minute, and yet he can't make himself step out. For one thing, as soon as he shuts off the water and slides back the screen, it's going to be fucking cold. Not as cold as Glasgow, sure, but winter's hit London with a vengeance. And, apparently, Scott.

The rush of cold air is the first indication John gets that the screen's opened, and of course it happens when he's got his eyes firmly closed, shampoo suds in his face as they rinse from his hair, which means that he can't look to see what's going on. By the time he can, the heat's restored, and long-fingered, fine hands are guiding his hair back, thumbs stroking the last of the soap from his eyes.

Scott.

Of course Scott, it wasn't going to be anyone else, but it's still unexpected after his earlier reception. John opens his mouth to speak, but the finger laid across his lips stops him, and then Scott's kiss, and then the lean strength of Scott's body against his, water pooling and overflowing around them.

"I was trying," Scott explains, between kisses that are definitely making it hard for John to remember any reason he should be upset by Scott's earlier actions, "to get everything finished before you got back."

Shit. Yeah, that actually makes sense, and that means that he'd upset Scott's plans, which explains the reaction and means that Scott had plans he's not told John about. It's not quite on the same level as the change of flight John didn't tell Scott about, but it's enough to make him chuckle, rich and low, arms winding around Scott to pull him even closer, tension easing further. "Workaholic," he says softly.

"Pot, kettle," Scott retorts, and then kisses him again. "I didn't expect to find you drowning yourself."

"I'm done." At least, with the shower, and John grins as he reaches up to shut off the water. It's going to be a hell of a lot warmer to get out with Scott there. "Are you?"

"With work, for tonight."

That's probably the most John's going to get, and he slides the screen back, keeping hold of Scott with his other hand as he steps out. "Then...?"

"Then _sleep_ ," Scott tells him firmly, snatching a towel off the rail and throwing it at him, taking another for himself. "How long since you got up?"

John can't even remember, and it must show on his face, because Scott rolls his eyes, takes the towel back and dries him off briskly. "Bed, John. Now."

"I love it when you give me orders." With a wink, because the day he's too tired to flirt is the day hell opens business for its first ice rink, John kisses Scott's smile, and heads back to the bedroom, abandoning his robe, only shivering a little as his skin meets the cool air, and then the smooth, cool sheets.

They don't stay cool for long.

Or smooth.

And he does – eventually – get to sleep.


End file.
